Above and Beyond
by Floopygirl
Summary: Postep tag for 'The Tok'ra'. Sam gets drunk, Jack takes her home. SJ, mainly friendship. Light and fluffy. COMPLETE
1. 1

Title: Above and Beyond

Rating: 13+

Pairing: S/J, mainly friendship

Spoilers: The Tok'ra

Disclaimer: They're not mine

Summary: episode tag to The Tok'ra

A/N: Thanks to Jack for the beta job. I was trying for fluff, but seemed to log in at 'no plot but w/out adorable cuteness'. First half up now, second half tomorrow or the day after, you know the drill.

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Jack looked around the briefing table. He saw a room full of tired people. Tired people who were riding high on the exhilaration of having finally found Earth an ally in its war against the Goa'uld, but tired people who were headed for a crash into exhaustion and low spirits. The Tok'ra's unique definition of hospitality had put a strain on them all, the members of SG-3 included.

Being in command was about more than just tactics and being willing to put yourself on the line. It was about knowing your people and recognising when they needed encouragement, coddling, or a kick up the backside to get them going. Right now, Jack could see that both his team and Makepeace's needed an evening of fun to help them wind down – preferably with alcohol included – followed by at least twelve hours sleep and a couple of days off. Not that Daniel or Sam would be happy spending any time away from the base, but still he could try.

When the briefing finally ended Hammond left quickly, sending a pointed look towards Jack, while everyone else milled slowly towards the door. Jack clapped his hands to get their attention. "Listen up, campers. We're having a team night at O'Malley's, starting in one hour's time. I'm buying the first round, so get your butts moving and make sure you get there on time. Dismissed."

A couple of marines applauded and people flowed out of the room, eager to make it to the bar ASAP. Jack smiled to himself in satisfaction – it never failed – only to realise that his second-in-command was lagging behind. He'd been half-afraid she wouldn't want to go along with his idea.

"Carter, what's up?"

She looked at him, almost guiltily. "Sir, if it's okay with you, I'm going to give tonight a miss. I think I'll just go home to bed."

She was one of the people he was most concerned about – she'd been riding an emotional rollercoaster for the past few days, and even though her father was now safe, he knew that Jacob leaving was a huge blow to her. While a letdown was inevitable, he didn't want her to spend the night alone, brooding over when she'd see her father again.

Putting on a great show of enthusiasm, he patted her on the shoulder. "Come on Carter, it's a team night and we need you there! You need to come along and help us celebrate the kicking of some alien butt." She looked at him skeptically, and he felt compelled to rephrase his words. "Well, the future kicking of alien butt – come on, this a huge deal and a lot of it's down to you! You should be proud."

She ducked her head down and he waited in suspense, wondering if he'd pushed her too far. Then she looked up again, sticking her chin out and with a smile tugging at her lips. He sighed in relief – that was the Carter he wanted to see. "Ok, why not? See you later, sir."

She hurried off, but he called out after her, hoping she could still hear him. "Don't be late – you don't want to miss out on that free drink!" He heard the faint sound of her laughter echoing in the concrete corridors, and smiled to himself. Now he just had to make sure that everyone had a good time.

xxxxx

Three hours later, standing at the bar, he realised that his plan had backfired. Carter was drunk. Normally she was a restrained drinker, nursing a couple of beers along for the whole evening, but tonight was different. She'd obviously decided that alcohol was the best way for her to cope with whatever she was going through, and when Carter set her mind on something... The results were normally pretty spectacular.

He frowned as she swayed her way from Teal'c and the group of marines – who were enjoying her 'wild side' far too much for his liking – over to Daniel, who was sitting to one side. Jack had been glaring at the marines all evening as they kept buying her drinks, but Makepeace had declared that no gentleman would let a lady buy her own liquor and that Jack should take lessons – and woah, she was in Danny's lap now. And not moving. Jack frowned harder and went to join them.

Despite his concern, he was amused at Daniel's reaction – contrary to his expectations, the younger man hadn't forced Sam to move, but was still looking rather uncomfortable. The giveaway was the beetroot flush that had crept over his neck and face – or maybe that was from all the beer he'd been drinking. Either way, having Carter's arms cuddling into him probably wasn't helping any.

"So Carter, are you enjoying your evening?"

She gazed at him with eyes that didn't seem to focus. And then jumped up, nearly sending both herself and Daniel onto the floor – bar stools were not designed for two, Jack was amused to note. "Sir!" She hovered uncertainly in front of him, swaying slightly. He had no control over the grin that spread across his face.

"Carter, we're on downtime for crying out loud. I think you can sit back down." He ignored the frantic hand gestures Daniel was sending to him from behind Sam's back.

"Actually, I was about to, er, get another drink." Daniel had jumped up so quickly that he left the stool rocking behind him. "Jack, do you want another?"

"I'll have another beer," Sam piped in, before he could say anything. Right, that was enough.

"Come on Carter, it's time to get you home." He slung an arm around her waist. "Daniel, I'm going to get a cab and take the Captain back. You guys going to stay here?"

Daniel looked over at SG-3, who were cheering on Johnson as he downed a double shot of tequila. "I think we're good for another couple of hours," he remarked. "Unless you want me to take Sam back?"

Jack shook his head. "Nah, that's okay. I'll be – okay!" Sam had started snuggling into his side in a fashion that he would have found quite suggestive, were he not her commanding officer.

"Are we going or not?" she mumbled.

Daniel spread his hands apart. "I'm not stopping you." He paused, and then a teasing grin spread across his lips. "She's really quite the cuddler when she's drunk, isn't she?"

"Hey!" Sam obviously wasn't as out of it as they'd thought, as she detached herself from Jack and shoved Daniel, almost falling against him. Jack grabbed her again.

"I think we need to head home now. Daniel, will you say our goodbyes?"

"Sure." It wasn't necessary though as Johnson spotted them leaving – Jack didn't know how the man could still stand, let alone see anything – and wolf-whistled loudly. His teammates picked up the theme, shouting out various forms of encouragement, but Jack settled for glaring back at them. He was sure Teal'c would knock some manners into them – literally, if necessary.

Sam stumbled slightly and he clutched harder at her. "You okay there?"

"Uh huh." She paused, forcing him to stop, and then started moving again. "I feel a little unsteady."

He chuckled, not able to help himself. It was refreshing to see her this way – talking at his level, for once. It was a shame she had to drink a pint or so of tequila and then follow it with half a dozen bottles of beer for them to be on an equal footing.

"I bet you do. You can really put it away, huh Carter?"

"Really?" He was becoming uncomfortably aware of the curves pressing into him, even through a layer of jacket. Speaking of which, he had no idea where hers had ended up – he only hoped she had her keys.

"Carter, have you got your purse?"

She nodded vigorously. "Sure."

Okay. "Where?"

She dangled a small bag in front of him, the strap looped around one wrist. Well, that was okay then.

xxxxx

Hailing a cab was relatively easy – not surprising, considering the number of bars in the area – and they settled in the back together. Jack gave the driver her address.

"That's my address!"

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm taking you home first."

"Oh." She appeared to consider this, and then snuggled against him again, head leaning on his shoulder. "Okay."

He had to admit that it was quite nice, having her lean against him. He knew the thought was wrong but hey, he'd been drinking too, right? At least he hadn't been the one to initiate any contact between them.

"Sam?"

"Mmm?" The sound was muffled against his chest.

"You can take tomorrow off, okay?"

She pulled back slightly, staring at him in a rather confused fashion. Her hair was sticking up _everywhere_.

"Why?"

Okay, maybe five-year old Carter wasn't so fun. "Let's just say that you might not feel so good in the morning."

The cab went over a particularly bad bump and she frowned, looking totally bewildered. "I don't feel so good now."

"Really?" He saw her bring a hand up to her mouth and realisation struck him. "Oh no." He turned, frantically trying to roll the window down, but the handle was stuck and he couldn't get it open. Then... Fumes of alcohol, and other stuff he'd really rather not thing about, filled the vehicle.

This was not pretty. In fact, he was beginning to think that this whole evening out was one of the worst ideas he'd had in years – and with his track record, that was saying something.

The cab driver turned around, swore in disgust, and slammed on the brakes. "Oh come _on_ now!"

Jack opened the door and pulled Sam out, helping her to the side of the road. She was still coughing and had vomit all down her front. He stroked her back as she continued to be sick into the gutter.

The cab driver had got out too. "She's not getting back in my cab."

Jack stared at the man in disgust. "We're only a couple of blocks from her house."

He shook his head. "Uh uh. I'm probably going to have to get to get the back cleaned as it is."

Unfortunately, he could see the man's point. "Look, I'll pay you extra."

"Nope. We'll just settle up here and now, if that's alright with you."

It wasn't, but what could he do? "Fine," he snapped, and pulled out his wallet from his jacket. He thrust a few bills at the man, ignoring his mutter of, "Thanks a lot!" and turned back to his second in command. She was sitting on the curb, arms curled round her knees. He sighed.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She didn't respond. "Sam?" He sat down next to her, not too close though, and shook her gently. She turned to him, startled.

"What?"

She could talk, she was fine. "Come on, we've got to get you home." And there was no way he was doing that without cleaning her up first. Oh crap. "Do you have any tissues in that bag of yours?"

She waved her hand towards him and he took it from her. Somehow – miraculously – it was uncontaminated by her, uh, gastro-pyrotechnics. That was probably the most pleasant way of describing things.

Even after what had just happened, it felt wrong to be going through her bag. Wallet, keys – he snagged those for later – condoms! He thought his eyebrows were going to hit his hairline. Still, he guessed all responsible women carried them these days, even just for a night out with her teammates – aha! He pulled out a half-empty packet of Kleenex and looked at it ruefully. They weren't going to go far, but they were the only tools available.

He used one to dab at her face. This wasn't too difficult from cleaning up a three year old after he'd eaten chocolate cake if you ignored the smell, which, admittedly, it was hard to do. Then another for her hands and the last couple for her front. He felt as though his actions were highly intrusive, despite his best intentions, and just wished that she'd been able to hold out for another couple of minutes.

And then she was as clean as she was going to get, without dousing her from a fire hydrant anyway. Tempting, but no. He hoisted her to her feet and draped her arm around his shoulders, wrapping his around her waist. Surprise surprise, she swayed.

Somehow, slowly and very laboriously, he got her home and managed to get the door open without dropping her, though it was a close thing. There was definite sliding a couple of times.

He looked at the flight of stairs ahead of him. "Carter, why couldn't you live in a bungalow?"

Her head perked slightly. "Huh?"

"Never mind."

One flight of stairs later (he'd sort of dropped her, but her fall was blocked by the banister so he'd managed to catch her before she hit the ground) he'd steered her into the bathroom, and propped her against the bath. Why did kids enjoy playing with dolls again? He dampened a towel and mopped her up a bit more. Yup, just like an overgrown, drunken five-year old who reeked of alcohol, as well as other things he'd rather not go into. He really needed a shower.

Now for the awkward part. He pushed, prodded and half-carried her into her bedroom. "Carter, I'm going to leave you to it here, okay?"

"Kay." She slumped onto the bed. He stared at her in despair. Should he leave her?

"Captain, are you going to get undressed?"

She shook her head.

"Carter, you're going to hate yourself if you wake up like this in the morning," he warned her.

She groaned. "You do it."

Oh boy. "Are you sure."

She nodded again, and he took a deep breath. Okay, he couldn't believe he was about to do this, but he was going in.

He coaxed her to lift her arms up and pulled her top up and over her head, letting it go inside out to minimise contact with anything else. He carefully managed not to notice that her bra was white cotton, staring uncomfortably at the waist band of her jeans instead. They were incredibly low-slung – he could see navel! – and he wasn't sure he wanted to keep going.

He looked up at her. "Sam, is this okay?" She nodded in an extremely exaggerated fashion, and he gulped. And opened her top button, pulling down the zip. Then started easing them down over her hips – oh hell, this was far too weird. He wasn't a prude, but she was his second in command and had almost no idea of what he was doing. "Carter, can you take it from here?"

Clumsily she stood up, almost tripping, and he let her lean on him for support as she shrugged them down to her knees. Helping her step out of the pants was a little interesting, but they got there in the end.

He tucked her up in bed and then, out of relief as much as anything else, kissed her on the forehead. "Night Carter."

"Night," she mumbled back in reply.

If you ignored the toxic clothes sprawled around the floor – which he was leaving for her to deal with in the morning, figuring that duty only took him so far – it was all kind of sweet. You might need a wonderful imagination to see it, but he could get there, almost.

He showered quickly, figuring that she wouldn't want him contaminating her pristine house, and shucked down to his T-shirt and boxers. His pants and jacket would need to be cleaned somehow, or possibly even burnt, after she'd leaned on him on their walk to her home. Downstairs he studied her two couches, which were both two-seater numbers. Wonderful. He gazed longingly at the front door, but forced himself to push the couches together and shuck down for the night. It would soon be morning, anyway.


	2. 2

Disclaimer: Still not mine

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She woke up feeling confused, aware that she was in her room but with no idea of how she'd gotten there. A painful band digging into her chest suggested that she hadn't taken her bra off, but a quick check revealed she wasn't wearing a top or trousers. So she hadn't fallen asleep in her clothes by accident, unless she zonked out half way through. Hrm. That was unusual: she would never voluntarily sleep in a bra. She considered the obvious reason for her state – a drinking spree of some sort – but her head didn't hurt at all. She just felt incredibly dopey, as if she'd only had a couple of hours sleep. 

It wasn't till she rolled over to study her alarm clock that the pain kicked in. Or, at least, the gut-wrenching nausea did, and she was also aware that she desperately needed to go to the bathroom. The clock said it was quarter past five but she wasn't sure whether it was day or night. Hrm, once again. Had she really slept the whole day away?

Moving slowly, out of respect for her delicate stomach and the fact that she was still pretty groggy, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. And paused, as the pain in her head kicked in. Yup, she'd definitely over-indulged the night before. Trying to ignore that tiny part of her brain that insisted on nagging her with questions she really didn't want to know the answers to, she concentrated at the task on hand. Feet. Standing upright on her feet. Remaining upright on her feet. She wasn't fussy: support from any handy wall or other solid object would be gratefully received.

She staggered out into the hall, bringing her hand up to her eyes to shade them from the bright light that was streaming in through the windows, and took a suspicious sniff. Something on her smelt horrible. Sour and stomach-churningly acid... she stopped, leaning against the wall, as her mind put the pieces together. A wave of mortification flooded over her and she closed her eyes briefly, praying that she was wrong. She never got that drunk, not since her last break-up and that bottle of vodka she'd allocated the honour of being her 'bestest friend ever!' for the night. Hrm.

She was rummaging through her medicine cabinet, amazed that with all the injuries she seemed to sustain off-world she didn't seem to have so much as a packet of paracetemol in her cupboard, when someone knocked at the bathroom door. She froze.

"Carter?" She recognised that voice. She'd been afraid of hearing it.

"Uh huh?"

There was a pause. "You okay in there?"

How to explain? "I'm looking for painkillers."

"Do you need any help?"

She smelt – stank might be a better way of putting it – she was only in her underwear and her hair looked as if something had taken up residence in it. This wasn't the way she wanted her commanding officer to see her. On the other hand, she couldn't find any painkillers, not even the Midol she normally took for cramps, and maybe he'd be able to find them amongst the chaos she'd just caused. Besides, the chances were that he'd been the one to put her to bed, so how much of a shock would her current state really be?

She grabbed a towel and wrapped it round herself, covering as much as possible. "Okay, you can come in."

The door opened slowly and her commanding officer walked in. He was in a T-shirt and boxers, with hair sticking up all over the place and stubble darkening his chin. She felt a moment's panic – why were they both in their underwear? – and then reassured herself that she'd been the only person in her bed when she woke up. She would have noticed a semi-naked colonel in there with her, surely?

He wore a huge grin on his face as he headed straight for the cabinet. She wished that he'd make some small effort to hide his amusement at her state. Then again, maybe he was. "I could do with something for my head, myself," he remarked.

"You got drunk last night as well?" Every time she managed to find herself some kind of comfort zone, something else would happen to interrupt her rosy glow of denial. It wasn't fair.

He handed her a couple of pills, and she swallowed them, washing them down with water from her tooth-mug.

"Not as drunk as you, but I had a few."

She was suddenly aware that she was standing, scantily-clad, in her bathroom with her commanding officer, and moreover that he was looking her up and down. It didn't seem quite kosher somehow. "Um, I should..."

"Shower," he interrupted, and she winced. "I'll put the coffee on, if that's okay with you."

She nodded, instantly regretting the movement. "Sure, make yourself at home..." She gestured expansively, trying desperately to act as if everything was totally normal.

In the end she opted for a bath, figuring that it would be safer in her wobbly state. She scrubbed herself and her hair, trying to remove any lingering odours. The shampoo foam ran into her eyes and stung, and she cursed quietly. Wasn't anything going to go right this morning?

Half an hour later, dressed in sweats and an oversized T-shirt, she made an appearance downstairs to find her CO in the kitchen, drinking coffee. She launched into an apology straight away, figuring it was long overdue.

"I am so sorry," she began, only to have him wave a hand at her.

"It's done. Don't worry about it."

"No, you don't understand, I don't normally drink that much and it wasn't really –"

"Carter!" His tone of voice caught her attention. "It's okay." She shifted nervously. "Really – it was a hard mission and you blew off some tension when you got back. I've been there."

She was determined to get it all out. "But the –"

"Puking?" She winced at the word. "Or are you apologising for the snuggling?"

Her head jerked up in horror. "There was snuggling?"

Then she realised that he was laughing at her. Bastard!

"Let's just say that you're a rather affectionate drunk, Carter. It's rather endearing, cute even. Daniel certainly seemed to think so. "

"I am not cute!" Then the words sunk in. Daniel, and his lap. She lowered herself onto a stool and sunk her head into her hands. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?" Despite herself, she was beginning to see the amusing side to all this.

She heard a mug clunk down in front of her and reached out for it without looking up. The coffee hit her stomach like acid and she put the mug down hastily. A hand patted her on the shoulder. "Probably not, but I wouldn't worry too much."

"I can't believe I spent the evening curled up to two of my teammates."

"Well..." Her head jerked up again.

"What?" She'd hit on Teal'c? Now she really was going to die of embarrassment.

"Gotcha." And he was laughing again. Bastard. She tried to kick him under the table, but he was too far away. Typical. Still, she would pay him back for that smirk at some point, just maybe not today.

She looked at her clock again. It was now after six, definitely still morning. "It's so early."

He nodded. "I'm going to head home soon, get some shut-eye. We've got the day off today, so I suggest you get some more sleep too."

"For once, I think I'll do that."

He nodded, satisfied. "Is it okay if I ring for a cab? My truck's still parked outside the bar."

"Sure." She handed him the phone and he was about to start dialing, but he paused, looking serious for the first time that morning.

"Carter, are you okay? Last night was pretty out-of-character for you, your obvious interest in me not withstanding." He waggled his eyebrow at her.

She shook her head, not sure of what she was denying. "It's just... I know my father's okay, but..." She sighed. "I should have just gone home early."

His eyes were warm, and she found herself reluctant to look away. "I know things were tough, but you did good, Carter. Really good. You know that, don't you?"

She held the eye contact and enjoyed the pride his words sent through her, ignoring the awareness that flared up inside her. "Thank you sir."

"You're welcome."

Finally he looked away and started dialing a number on the phone. Sam made herself some herbal tea – easier on the stomach – as he spoke to the cab company. "They'll be here in ten minutes," he announced. "I'll just straighten up your sitting room before I go."

"My sitting room?" She followed him through, and studied the cocoon he'd made himself. For someone a little over six foot tall, that must have been seriously uncomfortable. She bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

"Sir, you do know I have a guest room, don't you?"

A look of consternation flashed across his face, but it was quickly replaced by the nonchalance she was used to seeing. "Well, Captain, I didn't want to go prying around in your home without your permission."

Which is why he'd escorted her up to her room and undressed her. "Uh huh."

He pulled the couches back to their original positions while she stood by, watching. She could have helped out, but she was still feeling pretty ill. There was no need to disrupt his macho act. Once everything was back in place, he regarded his handiwork with satisfaction. "All done."

"Sir, don't you think you're forgetting something?"

He looked around in confusion. "What?"

Her shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. "Pants?"

He stared at her blankly, and then the penny dropped. He grabbed his jeans from where they were lying across the back of an arm chair and pulled them on. "After last night I didn't want to put them back on straight away."

"I see." That was mean, and she didn't like the implication that she'd thrown up on him. "Did I actually?" She didn't want to finish.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Was I in the blast zone, you mean?" She nodded. "No." Big sigh of relief. "However, trying to get you home when you were clinging to me..." He shuddered. She shuddered. And resolved to buy him a really nice bottle of whiskey next time she was shopping – one she wouldn't be offering to share with him.

A horn blared in the street outside. "That'll be your cab," she said, unnecessarily.

"Yeah." She walked him to the door.

"Make sure you get some sleep, Carter. That's an order. I need my favourite physicist in fighting-shape."

She smiled. "Yes sir! And thank you – for everything."

His lips quirked. "Sure. It's all part of the job, you know." And then he bounded out to the waiting cab, vigorously enough to make her head hurt just watching him.

Sam closed the door after him and wandered back into her sitting room, aware that eating something would probably help settle her stomach, but unwilling to face anything solid yet. Then she saw his leather jacket lying on the floor and all thoughts of food were forgotten. She picked it up and studied the splatters on it, wrinkling her nose at the highly distinctive smell emanating from it.

Forget 'It's all part of the job': last night had gone way beyond that. And forget whiskey as a thank-you gift – the more she saw, the more it looked like she'd need to buy him a whole new wardrobe. Smiling to herself, Sam went back up to bed. She'd thank him again tomorrow.

The end

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A/N: Thanks for all the feedback I've received. I really appreciate it, and I'm sorry I haven't the chance to reply to everyone in person. 


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